Green Eyes
by starsinjars
Summary: Dean has Mary's eyes. And John will never forget it.


Title: Green Eyes

Summary: Dean has Mary's eyes. And John will never forget it.

A/N: For this fic Mary's eyes are green. Deal with it.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Warmth. Dean woke up to overwhelming warmth. Sammy was curled up against his back, his skinny arms around Dean's chest. Dean was about to turn to his brother, to cover him in an embrace, when he realized that warmth was not the only thing that he woke up to.

_It'll go away, like always,_ Dean thought to himself, with an exasperated sigh. This was happening more and more lately. It was damn annoying. Dad said it was part of being a man, but Dean really wished he could skip over this particular chapter.

Usually it would be gone by now. He tried his best to will it away, but even his Winchester-brand stubbornness had nothing against his twelve-year-old hormones. His little…_friend…_ was not going anywhere. Dean bit his lip, wondering what he should do if it really wouldn't go away. He couldn't just stay there next to Sammy, not like this! That would be beyond creepy.

Maybe, he thought, he should just suck it up and ask Dad for help. Maybe just this once he couldn't fix this on his own. Resolved, Dean carefully slipped out from Sammy's clingy hold and tip-toed to his Dad's room next door.

He knocked on the door, lightly at first, then a bit harder when he didn't hear the tell-tale sounds of Dad stirring.

"Dad?" he whisper-called after opening the door a crack. "Dad? Hey, Dad!" Dean decided to cough softly, hoping that it would get his father's attention.

Already awake, John decided to take his time to answer his son. Luckily he didn't drink so heavily last night, so he was able to rub the hangover out of his eyes and kick the last few bottles of "Hunter's Helper" under the bed. He got up up slowly with a grunt, pushing the ratty motel sheets aside and snatching his boxers from the floor where he'd carelessly tossed them before. He lumbered tiredly to the door, trying to clear the morning gunk from his throat.

"What is it?"

Dean couldn't help but jump at the sudden movement, suddenly nervous and afraid.

He gathered up his courage but still sounded timid. "I just...I need your help. With something."

John sighed and took a step back to let his son in. "Well? What is it?"

"Um," Dean said brilliantly. "I just. You know. Guy stuff?"

"Oh," John said, understanding lighting his eyes. "_Oh_. Well, um. You're ten, right?"

"I'm twelve, Dad."

"Twelve? Even better. Come here, son. Sit down on the edge of the bed." He patted the bed, waiting for Dean to come over.

Obediently, Dean marched over to his father and took a seat.

"Now listen, son. Being a man is… well, I mean, men are different than women, see? And so, different stuff...happens. You know, the 'birds and the bees'?"

"Yeah, Dad, I _know _that," Dean rolled his eyes. They already covered this in biology, which was very funny to everyone in the class and not funny at all to their unfortunate teacher.

lol

"Yeah, genius? Then what're you askin' me for?" John raised an eyebrow.

"It's not that, Dad, it's. You know. _You _know." And Dean tried, through various facial expressions, to get Dad to understand what he meant.

"Ohhh," Dad finally understood _for real this time_, and scrubbed at his beard in thought.

"Well, uh. You just. When that happens, just wait for it to go away, or you can go into the bathroom and um…"

"Yeah?"

"You just let yourself... feel good, son."

Dean blinked. "Okay…?" He looked at his father expectantly. "And…how do I do that?"

"Ah. Right. Well, Dean, just um. Use your hands to. You know, get rid of it."

"Like...squeeze it?"

"Well, sort of, but not too hard, okay? It would hurt like hell. So don't do that. Just. You know. Squeeze, rub, whatever." John could feel his face burning. Why the hell was this so hard? They were both guys! This was his fucking son, and here he is blushing like a little girl or something!

Dean looked contemplatively at his groin. "So if I do that, it'll go away for sure, right? 'Cause I gotta go to school later, and I ain't going like this."

"Yeah, yeah, it'll go away. Look, it's not even 5. You have plenty of time to...get rid of it. Just...go. Go ahead and, yeah. Yeah."

"Okay," and Dean obligingly put his hand down his shorts to his groin and squeezed.

"No! Not in here, damn it!" John jumped up and looked away. "You gotta do that alone, you idiot! Get-get out of here, go in the can!"

Dean looked bewildered at his father's sudden anger.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry." And Mary's mournful green eyes looked at John from his son's face.

John squeezed his eyes shut till his son looked like his son again. Then, with a sigh, he patted Dean's shoulder. "Never mind, son. Forget it, you're still...learning. It's fine, kiddo, you can just...do whatever. I won't holler at you anymore."

"Okay," Dean said in a feathery-soft voice. He started to leave, but John knew that he had made Dean upset. And if Dean was upset, that meant that Sammy would be upset.

"Dean, wait," John said, making Dean stop with his hand on the doorknob.

"Yes, sir?" Dean turned to his father, looking at him with those haunting eyes. John kept his gaze when he smiled.

"You can stay here and I'll make sure that you're doing it right," he offered, hoping that it would appease his eldest.

Dean smiled, nodding and dropping his hand. He made his way to his father, happy that he wasn't mad anymore. Without thinking much of it, Dean quickly hugged his father's torso. Stunned, John was frozen for a few moments and snapped out of it after Dean had let go. He now had both of his hands in his shorts, one tugging at the waistband and the other grabbing his still hard friend. Dean was pulling gently, squeaking at the sensations his hand gave him.

John swallowed, mouth and throat suddenly dry. "Why don't you just take 'em off, son?" It was out of his mouth before he could even think about it.

Dean looked up, slightly breathless. "Y-yes, sir." He shoved his shorts down to his knees, kicking them off and using both hands.

John couldn't stop himself from staring. Watching his son pleasure himself for the first time, mesmerized as Dean gasped and twitched and moaned. John's eyes roved shamelessly, and he found himself wanting to pull Dean's shirt off as well, so he could see more, just a little bit more…

The impulse would not be mastered. John reached over and, as though Dean were a small child who couldn't dress himself, yanked the t-shirt from his son's body, bearing the lean little chest and stomach to John's hungry eyes.

"Daddy?" Dean asked breathlessly, forgetting for a moment that he was twelve and should say "Dad" since he wasn't a little kid anymore.

"It's okay, son," John managed even though his mouth felt like a desert. "Just keep going." His dry tongue tried to lick drier lips. "Keep going, baby."

Dean whimpered a little, and kept up his rhythm of squeeze-and-pull, squeeze-and-pull. John was kind of impressed that he managed to move his hand in a pretty sophisticated motion. The kid was a natural. He'd have all the girls one day, John thought with not a little pride.

But he couldn't help but feel tempted to touch Dean for himself. Just to see what it would feel like. It wasn't that John was a pedophile or anything crazy like that! He was just a bit curious. It was harmless, completely harmless. After all, John was his father! Who better than his father to help him with something so personal, so intimate?

"Dean," John almost didn't recognize his own voice, so husky was it with lust. "You're a quick learner. But I know some other stuff, if you wanna see? Better stuff, you know. Want me to show you, baby?"

Unused to his dad using pet names with him, but too grateful for the affection to say anything about it, Dean merely nodded, and moved his hands away from his groin to let his dad take over.

John teased with his fingers, making Dean gasp. He rubbed it with his fingers, going at different paces that made Dean moan for more. He unconsciously thrust into his father's hand, starting to feel funny.

"Da-daddy, s-stop," Dean pleaded, afraid that he was going to piss himself or something.

John ignored him, instead rubbing with more intensity as he lowered his head to Dean's groin. He moved his hand to his base and began to lick. When he finally did it, finally had Dean's little cock in his mouth, it was too much for him.

With a shout, Dean felt himself turn into jelly and melt into his father's arms, exhausted. "S-sorry, Daddy," he mumbled, embarrassed in case he had done something wrong.

"Shh, baby, it's all right. That's what's supposed to happen. You were great, you know? You look so good like this." Dean noticed his dad's eyes were sort of clouded over, and that he was having the same 'problem' that Dean had come to him to get help for.

"D'you need help, too, Daddy?" Dean asked politely, feeling that it was only fair to offer.

John groaned, "Yeah, son, that would be great. Just, oh…" He pulled his shorts off and tossed them away again, albeit more haphazardly than before. Dean stared wide-eyed at his father's groin. He had a _lot _of hair, and it was _everywhere. _And he just...looked different than Dean did. Really damn different.

John laughed breathlessly when he realized what Dean was making that goofy face for. "It's just part of being a man. You got a bit of hair there too, don't look so shocked," he teased.

"Um," was all Dean could manage. Nothing else seemed...fitting.

"Now, come here, Dean. Put your hand here, and just, _ohhh _yeah there you go."

Because John was so big, Dean had to use both hands to cover as much as he could. He began to move up and down, down and up, teasing the tip like his father had done for him. When John started to moan, moving in sync with his movements to create more movement, Dean gathered more courage and tried to place the head in his mouth and suck like his father did.

Not soon after John gave a loud groan and Dean's mouth filled with a bitter-sticky taste. He wanted to spit it out but John put a finger to his lips. "Always swallow it, babe; swallow it all," he told him, and slowly Dean forced the stuff down.

"Sick, Dad!" he couldn't help but squeal as he made a face. John ruffled his hair and laughed at him.

"We'll see if you're saying that in a few years."

Dean shook his head, and smiled when his father laughed again.

"Oh, Dean," John sighed, tracing his son's chest. He teased his perked nipples before trailing downwards and rubbed his legs. "Wanna try something even better?"

Dean thought about how good he felt, and nodded before shaking his head. "I don't have my problem anymore."

"Oh, we can fix that," John whispered in his ear before grabbing his son's length. Dean gasped as John moved fast, going up and down and occasionally teasing the head. Dean was shaking, panting as John moved fast. John took one of Dean's hands with his free hand and placed it on his own cock. Dean, being the clever boy he was, knew what to do and began to rub his father.

"There you go, babe, you're getting it, you're gettin' it."

Dean just moaned, moving in pace with his father's hand. He nodded, panting as he tried his best to keep up. John moved faster and faster, when suddenly he just stopped.

"Daddy?" Dean moaned, annoyed with the loss of friction. His father said nothing, instead moving his hand from Dean's cock to his chest, pausing to circle around his nipples. Dean groaned, squeezing John tightly. John then proceeded to lift Dean up in his arms and toss him further back on the bed, ordering him to lie down.

"Yes, sir," Dean replied, quickly doing as his father commanded.

John rummaged in the bedside table for something, and then crawled onto the bed with a bottle in his hands.

"This stuff just makes it go easier," John explained, pouring a generous amount of the clearish liquid into his hand. "Everyone uses it. Do you trust me, Dean?"

"'Course I do, Daddy." And once more John could swear that it was into his wife's eyes he was staring. He caressed his son's face with his dry hand, holding his gaze as he gently pushed one slicked finger inside.

Dean tensed, not liking the sudden intrusion and hurried to push it back out.

"What-why?" he cried out, pain drowning out the early pleasure. He could feel himself get a little soft, which he wasn't sure was supposed to happen.

John continued to caress his face. "Shhh, baby, it's supposed to feel weird. Just let yourself get used to it for a sec. Relax, kiddo." He then put finger back in, and Dean was more prepared for the freaky stretching this time.

Dean took deep breaths, his hands clutching at the sheets on either side of him. "I don't like this," he admitted, tears starting to well up in his eyes. "I want to stop."

John shushed him again and wiped a tear away. "Don't worry, baby. It's fun when you get used to it! Give it a chance, huh? For your old man?"

Dean hiccupped, but nodded. John took that as an invitation to press another finger inside.

Trying his best to relax as much as he could, Dean couldn't help but let out a little squeak. "Too much, too much," he told his father breathlessly. "Please stop now?"

"Not yet, not yet," John was saying, and the look in his eyes frightened Dean. Dark and unfamiliar. "It gets better, baby, I promise it will. I just gotta find it."

"F-find?" Dean started, but he was cut off by a sudden tingling inside. He gasped, confused and lost, but John knew he found what he was looking for.

"Pretty neat, huh?" His grin was positively wolfish as he added another finger. Dean twitched and moaned at the sensations.

"Daddy," Dean moaned, moving in sync with his father's fingers to push them in as deep as they could possibly go. His breath hitched, that funny feeling coming again, and whined when John stopped.

"How come you keep doing that?" he panted, reaching to rub himself before John pushed his hands away.

"That's just how it goes, baby. You go the edge, and stop, and then go back again. 'S fun."

"Oh."

"But that's the last time I'll stop it. 'Cause now comes the best part. You ready?"

"I guess." And with that ringing endorsement, John grabbed the bottle again, slicked his own cock in the stuff, and took hold of himself.

"Now just remember to take deep breaths. All right?"

"Yeah," Dean was sort of scared but it wouldn't be manly to show it.

"Okay, here we go."

Dean braced himself as John began to push himself in. He cried, pain overcoming any other sensation he had been feeling before. He closed his eyes and grasped at the sheets. But John continued to push and shush him.

"It's okay, baby, you're doing great. Just relax and let me inside," he breathed huskily into Dean's ear. "Look at me."

Dean shook his head, breathing heavily as John continued to just push without pause. "D-daddy, I can't - "

"Open your damn eyes!"

Terrified, Dean immediately stared into his father's hazel eyes, darkened with lust and maybe something else, unable to tell what his father was feeling.

John grinned. "That's it, babe, look at me. Look at me, Mary." Dean frowned when he heard his mother's name, and was about to say something. He kept silent, however, when John was all the way inside.

Dean began to moan, pleasure coming back as his father pounded into him. John ignored his hardening cock and instead played with Dean's perky nipples, pinching and squeezing. He lowered his mouth to one of the rosy little buds, sucking gently, rolling the tender skin lightly between his teeth.

"Mary," John murmured against Dean's thin chest. "Oh, Mary…"

"Dad-" Dean was going to protest, when suddenly his father's hand clamped over his mouth.

"Shh," John said as though he were trying to soothe a crying baby. "Shh. It's all right."

He continued to thrust harshly into Dean, seeming not to hear the little boy's cries. Dean arched into John's touch, skin sensitive and needing friction. That funny feeling was coming back, and it was more intense than the previous times.

"Daddy, Daddy, please," Dean sobbed, not knowing what he was even asking for.

John stared into his son's green eyes, hands roaming all over his chest and pinching his nipples. "Touch yourself, Dean," he said gruffly. "Touch yourself because I sure as hell am not gonna do it."

Dean quickly released his hold on the sheets and grabbed at his cock with shaking hands. He moved fast up and down, squeezing and teasing the head like his father did. He wanted to cry from the sheer intensity of it all.

John was sucking on his nipples again, kissing them, biting them, caressing them with his tongue. "You like that, don't you, bitch? You little whore. I know you do, you dirty fucking whore. Mary, Mary Magdalene, Mary the whore."

"Da-a-ad!" Dean's voice reached a pitch that he hadn't known was possible, as he blacked out for a few moments, back arching high off the bed. He felt a warm liquid-goo stuff squish between him and his dad, and he collapsed, exhausted.

John continued for a few more minutes, pounding into the lifeless Dean. His thrusts and grunts became more and more sporadic as he went faster and faster, still teasing Dean's nipples. He cried, "Mary!" before releasing himself into his son, falling on top of him. With fluttering eyes, Dean watched as his father petted his head, murmuring softly while staring at his eyes.

"I love you, Mary."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A/N: Thanks for reading!


End file.
